


whispers in a thousand tongues

by WhiteTigerBoi



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:49:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8938573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteTigerBoi/pseuds/WhiteTigerBoi
Summary: Serin Lavellan didn't want to become a god, but he became one anyway. On the upside, he's no longer subject to the whims of Mythal. On the downside, the world passed by in two years without Serin's presence.In which Corypheus tried to take the Inquisitor down with him. Because hey, if he's going down, may as well take the cause of downfall with him, right?





	

**Author's Note:**

> The Inquisitor, Serin Lavellan:
> 
> http://white-tiger-boi.tumblr.com/post/154756725921

Serin clenched his left fist, the Anchor's magic sending static up and down his arm. His right hand already ached while he gripped his staff. There's a gash in his left leg, looked very serious than what it was, and there were still red welts under his coat courtesy of dragon fire.

“It's over,” he marched towards the first of the Darkspawn, left hand already held up. Corypheus cried and beseeched for his old god, calling Dumas’ name in vain. Fear was a strange look on his twisted visage.

“You want to go to the Fade that bad?” Serin snarled, months running around Thedas just to stop this madman culminating into a fiery rage that boiled beneath his skin. Demons crowed and pressed on the Veil, trying to cross through the newly created Breach.

Serin gathered his magic on his left hand, a rift ready to form beneath his fingers. It was easy to gather all his energy into the Anchor, made possible by the wealth of knowledge Mythal and her followers whispered in his head. This was old magic, ancient elven magic forgotten by their people, by the Dalish.

It did not matter if he bore the slave marks of Mythal or Sylaise, what mattered was that this worked and Corypheus died for good.

The naked fear in the Darkspawn's eyes shifted, and Serin saw a desperate rage growing instead. Serin's eyes widened when Corypheus grabbed his collar with his skeletal hand, energy borne of blood magic pouring strength in the old magister's arm. The elf tried slamming his staff on the offending limb, but it just made Corypheus send a blast of magic that made Lavellan let go of the staff. Corypheus stood up, easily lifting Serin off the ground.

In the distance, Serin can hear his companions calling for his name. He was seriously regretting not bringing another mage except for himself. An enormous statue of Andraste blocked Varric, Cassandra, and Blackwell. It sounded like they're having difficulties trying to climb up.

“If I die now, you will die with me.” Corypheus was fading into the tiny rift Serin made with his hand. It looked as if the man was turning into ash, but Serin knew that the Anchor was disintegrating the Darkspawn bit by bit and was reforming inside the Fade. If Corypheus doesn't let go, Serin will be going with him.

“Let go, you son of Darkspawn shit!” Serin was struggled, slamming his fists at the limb. He made no attempts to scratch it, afraid that a bit of the magister's blood was enough to taint him with the Blight.

Corypheus laughed, madness finally taking root. His claws clenched, and Serin can only watch in fascinated horror as red lyrium began to extend from his shoulder like some accelerated vines creeping on the Darkspawn's arm.

In panic, Serin let all his magic surge into the mark. The rift in the Fade expanded, growing with the energy Serin poured into it. The tear in the Veil engulfed the two of them, both entering the Fade in a graceless stumble. The force of the rift pushed the two mages apart, Serin’s back hitting a stone wall while Corypheus fell into a chasm deep within the Fade.

The rift Serin created disappeared, and he can only glance around the Fade in worry. Wherever this place was, it's unfamiliar. Tall spires extend beyond the skies of the Fade, blackened stone walls and tiles in terrifying patterns surrounded his vision. Then the feeling of being watched had something like spiders climbing up his arms.

Serin held his marked hand out, gathering his magic and channelled it. Except his reserves ran dry, and a bone-deep exhaustion settled heavily in his limbs. With a tired groan, Serin slumped down, trying to discern where could he possibly be.

He had no idea how long he laid there, too exhausted to care.

 _‘Someone will be looking for me soon,’_ he thought, but Serin could find neither strength nor motivation to stand. Months of leading the Inquisition, judging prisoners, running around the countryside killing random people and whatnot. Strange, it sounded as if Dorian was just there.

Well, shit.

Dorian.

Cassandra, Varric, Sera, Blackwall, Iron Bull, Solas, Cole, Vivienne….

Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen.

The many men and women who gave their lives for the Inquisition.

They're all probably waiting on the other side, right?

With a pang of guilt, Serin pushed himself up. He turned to the side and said up shakily. The Fade seemed to shudder with a strange anticipation.

Serin glanced around, something was missing….

Wasn't the Black City supposed to be floating somewhere?

If the Black City was nowhere… 

“I'm in the Black City,” Serin began in awe. “I'm in the Black City.”

Then he panicked. “Sylaise’s titsicles, I'm in the Black City! June fuck I'm in the Black City! I'm in the Black Fucking City. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.”

Serin took a deep breath, glanced around, then: “Well, shit.”

It looked like Serin was in the… Gates? The thing was enormous, with plenty of symbols etched on the blackened gold. The elf could barely make any heads or tails of whatever it was supposed to depict. Either way, it looked terrifying, probably different from what it once was before Corypheus and his entourage decided to storm the Fade.

Serin glanced behind him.

There was no path to head over the ‘normal’ part of the Fade. Looking down, he can only see the endless chasm where the magister fell.

As if knowing his dilemma, the gates to the Black City opened.

Serin froze, distrusting. What was he supposed to do? The last time someone went inside, the Blight happened. 

“Creators, or Andraste, or whoever is in charge… I'm just gonna stay here, rest a bit, and then go back home. Sorry about the trouble, but I don't want to impose.” Serin scooted away as far from the gates as possible, hugging a stalactite (stalagmite?) with a vice-like grip, unwilling to accidentally step in. “See? This is nice, innit? You stay there, without someone storming in and accidentally starting the end of the world. Me? I stay here, without being that arse shite who accidentally starts the end of the world.”

Serin glared at the gates, the gates stared back. Nothing seemed to have come from the inside, there's this weird glowing… Darkness? Either way, it did pique Serin's curiosity, but he's too sensible to give in to that curiosity.

Voices seemed to drift from inside, and Serin's ear twitched. For a second there, he heard his mother's voice calling him for dinner. The elf shook his head, and then hugged the pillar tighter.

The voices grew louder, more insistent. Mythal and her merry band of followers were strangely silent. Serin huffed, in a slight attempt to silence the voices from the Black City. 

Then he started with 100 bottles of beer in the wall. Then he went with a Fereldan drinking song. Then with a Dalish one. Eventually, Serin ran out of drinking songs.

The gates were amused, Serin was sure of it, if the cheery chattering were any indication. “Oi, I may be a scholar at heart, but fuck you and your Darkspawn shite.”

Serin realised that he may had have sufficient rest with all his slightly tone-dead singing. May as well give the anchor a try. 

He held it out in front of him, letting his reserves of magic surge. Before a rift can form, a chain wrapped itself around his arm and Serin yelped when he was yanked away from the stone.

“Shite fuck you!” Serin yelled as he held into another pillar. The chain was around his arm and a leg, trying to drag him inside the Black City. “Fuck you and your cow too!”

The Black City probably thought it was a challenge, and more chains then wrapped around Serin, breaking his hold and rendering him totally immobile. 

The shock of being dragged inside the Black City just made Serin freeze in disbelief. 

Then, “Well, shit.”

The dark light thing was a curtain, and when Serin passed through it, the thing shimmered away to reveal once golden walkways and structures. Content that Serin was inside, the ephemeral chains released the Inquisitor, and then the gates slammed shut with a bang.

Serin was quick to run to the gates, trying to force them open. “Fenhedis, you can't keep me here!”

The mark in his hand sparked like the usual whenever a rift was nearby. He expunged all his magic in that single attempt to open another rift. Now, he was out of magic again, and Serin needed to rest again and gather his reserves. 

With a frustrated sigh, Serin turned back.

He's trapped in the Great Beyond where his gods were trapped, wonderful.

The Black City was creepy as fuck, spires twisting into impossible geometry and structures twisting in strange angles. Shadows whispered everywhere, the smell of the Taint thick in the air. Serin can see something move in his periphery, but whenever Serin tried to focus, they slipped away like smoke. Veilfire illuminated the pathways, glowing an eerie green.

Serin sighed and unclasped the veilfire torch strapped on his hip, approached one of the braziers, and lit it. The flames made the shadows all the creepier, as if it has life of their own. The whispering voices then turned into giggling chatters, grating on Serin's nerves. The elf's footsteps echoed through the corrupted roads, making the deserted place all the lonelier. 

The familiar tinkling of a rune caught Serin's attention, and he approached the mark curiously. The veilfire revealed its contents, and the knowledge flashed behind Serin's eyes.

Seven bloody mortals, forcing the Gates open and storming through the golden halls. Their physicality bought a heavy miasma with them, the pristine streets shuddering at the intrusion. The Golden City was empty, yet it did not carry the air of death and corruption that it did now. Serin finally understood what the Chants Leliana and Cassandra, and whoever that worshipped Andraste went on about. The road was a lot like the tiles in Mythal’s temple, where Serin walked the petitioner’s path.

That was rather curious. Which religion was real, anyway?

The magisters’ faces were shadowed over by some strange magic, hiding their features from the… memory? Of the City. They went on, heedless of what they were stepping on, ignorant to the lights turning on and off as they walked.

Then the memory ended, and Serin returned to the real world. Well, to the Fade.

“Andruil’s tits, I can finally gloat in everyone’s faces when they realise that elves probably made the Golden City.” Realisation settled back, and Serin groaned. “Creators, I don’t want to become a Darkspawn.”

Wait, if Serin was in the Black City, that meant he was in the Beyond. Could that mean that he can free their Elven gods?

He considered the idea carefully.

On one hand, their people will have someone to support them and make sure they don’t live like supposed savages in the woods or impoverished indentured servants. On the other hand, that risked Serin becoming Darkspawn as well, or probably something just as worse, and he can’t have that.

With that in mind, he prioritised getting away.

“Here goes nothing,” Serin muttered, backtracking to the gates. Now that he saw what probably caused offense to whoever was in charge, Serin decided to make things right, so to speak. He glanced at the floor beneath him. There’s light coming from the crystal beneath the blackened filigree on the tile he stood on, Serin moved to another tile with the light on, and brightness burst into darkness again. The gibbering voices fell silent.

Huh, so that was what It was. It was like the ritual in Mythal’s temple.

Resolute, Serin returned to the gate.

He cleared the tiles he already stepped on, took a deep breath, and began to walk.

Hopefully, Serin had enough time to finish, otherwise, everyone in Skyhold would start thinking he was dead if he didn’t return soon.

**Author's Note:**

> While playing, I was thinking about some of the parts where other characters mention that the Inquisitor can become a god because of the mark and if ever they decide to enter the Black City. Then the idea turned into this monster.
> 
> I played Serin as a witty shit who loves puns and swears worse than a sailor. On my playthrough, I romanced Dorian because of course who can resist that Tevinter sass ball of feelings? I would have liked to romance Cullen as well, because of the potential dorkiness, but there seems to be a rarity of bi people in this DA game. Iron Bull is Serin’s bff along with Sera, he likes to tease Cassandra, and he just plains dislikes Vivienne. Serin looks up to Varric and he took it upon himself to be Cole’s big brother that keeps him out of trouble, probably brings Cole with Sera too if she doesn’t feel like being scared of him. Serin respects Blackwall and often goes to him for military advice and stuff. He also likes to joke with Josephine and shares betting pools with Leliana every now and then about who hooks up with who. Serin gets along with Solas when it comes to stuff like magic and discovering stuff in the Fade, he disagrees when it comes to stuff like making Cole more spirit because Serin is a firm believer that learning is better than forgetting.
> 
> Serin doesn’t firmly believe in the elven gods, and downright thinks of Andraste as some sort of really bamf mage to the point of godlike. Even after the whole thing in the Black City, he’ll probably think he got a power upgrade or something.
> 
> In terms of romance…. I was thinking it’s either Lavellan/Dorian, or Lavellasn/Cullen. If not, then I’d go for option 3: Cullen/Lavellan/Dorian. Because, threesomes.
> 
> UPDATE:  
> 12/24/2016
> 
> corrected some spelling errors. made most of the stuff on my phone, hence the mistakes. sorry about that! >.


End file.
